


My Destroyer

by Shadowy_Dumbo_Octopus



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Descent into Madness, F/M, Hypothermia, Neira is MESSED UP, Sadism, Slow Burn, So this nerd gets into trouble a lot, Spoilers, Two asexuals trying to work out a relationship: a fanfic, honestly idk how to tag this, oh boy where do i even start, skulls - Freeform, the rest of the party either thirdwheel or stare in horror, wizards are squishy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 23:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15181889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowy_Dumbo_Octopus/pseuds/Shadowy_Dumbo_Octopus
Summary: This is a collection of moments between Xzar and my shadowdancer Bhaalspawn Neira. It's... they deserve each other, that's all I'm gonna say.To those who have read my other fics: Yes, I've always been Like That. See this ship? They're the main reason why.





	My Destroyer

Neira could be an absolute _menace_ in the mornings.

Despite having adopted the nickname “blackbird” due to the bird skull she carried on a chain around her neck, she was the epitome of a night owl, loathing mornings more than anything in the world – even more than the assassins who have been plaguing them recently.

She was no different this particular day, muttering something about murdering that giant fucking fire orb in the sky someday as she dragged herself through their humble campsite, the bags under her eyes almost as dark as her hair.

Imoen sat cross-legged on the grass, watching her insomniac best friend with a worried expression. 

“Hey Blackbird,” she began, “maybe y-

“ _Silence_.” Neira raised a finger tipped with a long metal claw. She had commissioned those special gloves from a smith in Beregost, preferring them over Imoen’s old short bow. “Not. A. Single. Word.”

Ah, so she had a caffeine crash headache too. Splendid.

Imoen sighed, resting her chin on her hands and watching as she finished tying her shoes, muttering angrily under her breath, before standing up with a wince.

Suddenly, as if sent down by the gods, a strong, familiar scent reached both women’s nostrils. Imoen wrinkled her nose in disgust, but Neira inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering closed as she sighed in near-ecstasy. The gems in her necklace instantly turned canary yellow – joy.

“Coffee.”

They hurried towards the campfire, where the rest of their merry band of misfits was sitting around a boiling pot. Montaron waved at them.

“Knew that it’d make ya stop sulking.” He grinned towards Neira, who just slipped by him, all senses blind to anything that wasn’t the dark, heavenly nectar resting inside the pot. Waiting. For her.

Viconia rolled her eyes as she sipped from her cup, having already grown accustomed to their leader’s quirks and oddities. At least she wasn’t murdering anything… yet.

“Came to get some coffee, hmm?” Xzar, who was sitting cross-legged near the fire and stirring in the pot, grinned cheerfully as he took Neira’s cup and filled it almost to the brim. “Sugar? Milk? Honey?”

“Coffee.” Neira rasped, taking the cup away from him and cradling it close, inhaling its scent and cherishing the warmth it gave out. Coffee. Sweet, wonderful coffee.

Imoen watched as she took a sip, expression instantly dissolving into pure unadulterated bliss, eyes closed and a wide smile blooming on her lips. Truth be told, she didn’t understand what Blackbird saw in that horrid brown sludge. Bleugh, even the smell was nasty. She preferred something sweeter, like fruit tea or milk with honey. Speaking of which, didn’t Xzar say something about it too?

Neira set the empty cup down, her pale skin slightly flushed from the heat and her eyes looking slightly less dead than usual, although glazed over and unfocused. She took a deep breath.

“Xzar," she gasped in a lilting, dreamy voice.

He looked up at her from his own cup, probably containing more sugar than actual coffee. “Hmm? Do you need a refill? Honey? Milk? Sugar? Powdered spider legs?” The last query made Montaron revert his horrified gaze from Neira’s empty cup (full of scalding liquid only a few seconds prior) to his own, praying to all the gods who cared enough to listen that those tiny black bits weren’t what he thought they were. “They really bring out the taste.”

“Xzar, I think that I love you.”

Imoen almost choked on her honeyed milk suddenly, erupting in a violent cough. She didn’t know what was scarier: the image of these two death-obsessed psychopaths together, or the fact that she could actually _see_ it happening. Montaron and Viconia only rolled their eyes, the former with a look of disgust and the latter with that of matchless boredom.

Xzar, meanwhile, just stared with a slightly blank expression before shaking his head as if to snap out of a daze. “Oh.” He said. “That’s good, I suppose.”

Neira quirked her head at him inquisitively, something she seemed to have picked up from her namesake. “What’s good?” She asked, suddenly seeming more conscious, eyes vivid and focused.

“What you just said.”

“What did I just say?”

She was finally awake, Imoen noticed as she cleared her throat after her drink’s sneaky attempt at choking her. Neira always went through approximately ten seconds of coffee-induced bliss when she loved everything and everyone who supplied her with said heavenly liquid. Afterwards, she usually remembered nothing.

If the assassins knew about this, poor gal would be doomed.

“Nothing important.” She assured quickly. “Kagain is off collecting more firewood in case you wanted to ask – he set out while you were still asleep. I’ll go see if he needs any help!” With that, she leapt to her feet and dashed off.

Neira watched her go, puzzled, before she turned back to Xzar. “Mind pouring me another cup?”

~~~

“Sooooooooo…”

Neira groaned loudly, already knowing what was coming. She should have figured it out sooner based on Imoen’s new book with hearts all over the cover, as well as her giggles and frequent dreamy sighs. Her best friend has acquired a love story, which meant that she would be forced to put up with questions such as…

“Do you have a crush on someone?”

She dragged her hand over her face, having taken off her gloves just for the purpose of doing that. “Im, I’ve told you time and time again that no, I’m not interested in romance.” She sighed. “Now, if you follow that line of logic you will hopefully realise that it means that I do not, in fact, have a crush on anyone.”

Imoen tsk’ed with a cheeky smile. “Sounds like something someone with a crush would say…” She sing-sang as if she was eight years old again and teasing her about Dreppin, whom Neira didn't even like, let alone have a crush on. He allowed her to have the skull of the cow who had died from old age that morning, nothing more.

Oh, if only there was some assassin hiding in the bushes, ready to leap out and distract them from this dreadful conversation, Neira thought pleadingly, looking around. No such luck, unfortunately. Just your old, regular bushes, trees, and an occasional tree stump.

“It also sounds like something someone _without_ a crush would say, you know," she said. Okay then, how about wolves? There were bound to be some around. Bears, too, or badgers. She didn’t have a badger skull in her collection yet, and wouldn’t mind acquiring a nice, big one, preferably with all the teeth.

Imoen nudged her, pulling her out of her rather pleasant musings about the bone structure of such a formidable hunter. “Come onnnnnn, there has to be someone.”

“Like who?!” She snapped at her perhaps more fiercely than she wanted to. “We’ve been out of Candlekeep for only a few months, and the only men we’ve met worth speaking about were asshole red wizards, stuttering half-elves, boring old travellers, idiot bards, Kagain, Monty, and Xzar! Who would I possibly be interested in?”

That made Imoen shrink back, the sparks in her eyes diminishing just a little. Neira felt bad.

“Sorry.” She muttered, looking away. “Didn’t mean to yell. I’m just not interested, okay? And besides, it’s not like I’m the epitome of beauty or something.” She gestured at her face: too pale, too gaunt, her eyes too large and the dark circles under them too prominent. Her hair, too, was so tangled that no comb nor brush could sort it out, so she kept it short and walked around with whatever bedhead she woke up with. Statue-wise, even Imoen agreed that she was too skinny and boyish-looking, with her ribs and hipbones protruding no matter how much she ate. “Who would be interested in me?”

Truth be told, Neira didn’t mind how she looked – she was light, nimble, and her supposed unattractiveness helped her avoid attention. All these things have been said to her at one point or another, and she honestly couldn’t take them as anything other than compliments. The last question was simply a way to brush Imoen off.

“I dunno.” Come on, please drop the subject, she prayed. Then, to her dismay, Imoen lit up.

“Maybe you haven’t met them yet! Maybe you’re waiting for your own prince (or princess) charming!” She sighed dreamily.

“Dear fuck,” Neira muttered, voice breaking just a little as she desperately searched their surroundings for an excuse to end the conversation. What was that rustling in the bushes? No, just a sparrow. She already had a sparrow skull. Damn. Louder, she said “Imoen, please drop the subject!” She rarely begged for anything, being too proud to do so, but this was a dire situation.

Imoen seemed to ignore her, skimming through the pages of her book in search of something. Why did she carry it with her to scout the road ahead, Neira had no idea. “Oh, there it is. Listen.” She cleared her throat.

_“Don’t wait for your Prince Charming, Adele” Grandma Mirene said, gesturing with her cane. “Get up and find him. The poor idiot may be stuck in a tree or something.”_

“Nice.” Neira drawled as Imoen dissolved into giggles. “Look, Im, there sure are a lot of trees around but I don’t think…”

Suddenly, there was a rustle from above them, making them stop in their tracks. Please be an assassin, Neira prayed, please have cool-looking bones…

There was a loud squeak, followed by a familiar voice shrieking “Get back here, you nasty little rabbit!” and a squirrel jumped out from among the leaves and onto the next tree. Then, there was even more rustling, a loud cry, and Neira had just enough time to catch a very startled Xzar into her arms. She set him down quickly, mindful that he didn’t like being touched, and stubbornly ignored Imoen’s laughter.

He shook his fist at the quickly retreating rodent. “Stupid cowardly creature!” He spat. “All I wanted was its liver.”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes and an even bigger urge to smile, Neira crossed her arms on her chest and asked: “What in Hells were you doing up there?” 

Xzar turned towards her, as if only now having noticed her presence, and his anger dissipated instantly, replaced by a bright smile. “Why, hello there, Blackbird!” He said, “Catching squirrels, of course. Why, did it look like I was doing something else?”

She shrugged. “Catching birds, possibly, or collecting fruit for potions or bait for birds and/or squirrels.”

“Ah, clever.” He pointed at her, grinning approvingly. “But why would I chase after birds if one is already in front of me?”

“Because you can’t harvest neither my bones nor insides, I’m afraid.” 

He laughed, clapping his hands in glee. “Good good! Such a clever blackbird you are. By the way, you have something in your feathers.”

“Huh?” Neira reached up into the mess she called hair and indeed, pulled out a twig. She then looked back at Xzar, and couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “While you have a bird’s nest in yours!”

Of course, it wasn’t a literal bird’s nest as the necromancer soon found out (much to his disappointment,) but he decided to leave it as it was, perhaps in hope that some bird would mistake it for one, most likely at the cost of its lungs and eyeballs.

“Anyway,” he said, brushing himself off, “I’m going back to our camp. Seek me out if you find a squirrel – a live one if possible. Farewell!” He then started off in the wrong direction before abruptly turning on his heel and heading towards where their campsite actually was.

Both women watched him leave. 

When she was sure that he was out of earshot, Imoen giggled. “Not really my idea of prince charming, but…”

Neira tore the book from her grasp and used it to smack her across the head.

~~~

Several days later she was regarding Xzar with her eyebrows raised in a mixture of amusement and somewhat exasperated fondness. “Were you climbing up trees in search of squirrels and birds to dissect again?” She asked - a rhetorical question, really.

He hesitated before shaking his head, causing a few leaves to fall out of his hair. “No, Blackbird.” He lied, earning an exasperated sigh.

“Then may I ask what those leaves and twigs are doing in your hair?”

He stiffened, pulling out a twig to see if it was indeed up to anything suspicious. Upon finding it inanimate, he replaced it with a sigh of relief. “They aren’t doing anything.” He responded, truthfully this time, before turning his attention back to his spellbook.

Neira rolled her eyes, chuckling despite herself, and sat down beside him. “Do you want them gone? I could take them out while you’re studying.”

He glanced at her, nibbling at his lower lip in thought.

“Very well.” He said.

“Because if you’re not fine with me touching you, I can just-eh?” 

“I said _‘very well.’_ ” He closed his spellbook and set it aside. “A phrase often used to convey agreement or, in some more sarcastic cases, exasperation. In our case, I mean the former.”

Neira blinked at him rather owlishly. “Oh,” was all she could say. “Okay.”

\--- 

“I’m telling ye, it wasn’t poisonous!” Montaron threw his hands in the air. 

“First of all, _venomous_.” Imoen corrected him, still shaking slightly as she clutched her wrist. “Poisonous means that you die if you bite it; venomous means that you die if it bites you, which was very much the case here. Second of all, it wouldn’t have those red stripes if it wasn’t venomous. Now shut up - the sooner we get to our camp the sooner Viconia will save me from a long and excruciating death.”

He wanted to remark that a) she was the talkative one, and b) even if the snake was venomous, it wouldn’t be that much of a loss for everyone. Just as he was opening his mouth, however, Imoen stopped in her tracks.

“Montyyyyyyy,” she whispered, voice rising to an annoying squeak reserved usually for kittens and well-behaved babies, “look.”

He pushed past her to see what in Hells the brat was pointing at.

And there they were, their resident pair of weirdos, sitting under the old oak tree next to which they had made their camp. Neira was sitting cross-legged with Xzar’s head on her lap as she plucked leaves and twigs out of his hair. The necromancer had his spellbook open before him but it was clear that he wasn’t paying any attention to it, his eyes half-closed and a lazy smile stretched on his lips. If humans could purr, he would be doing just that.

“Let’s not interrupt them,” Imoen whispered, bitten wrist instantly forgotten as she sat down on the grass and watched the odd pair while snacking on some strawberries she got from gods knew where; they weren’t in season.

Montaron sighed in defeat and sat down next to her. “Aye, let’s leave them alone for now,” he muttered, eyeing the handful of ripe, sweet-looking fruits, “…I still have some wine from Nashkel - I’ll share if you share your stuff.”

After taking the matter into consideration, Imoen handed him a strawberry.

~~~

“Four!”

“Three and a sparrow!”

“No, four!”

“Three, a sparrow, and a field mouse!”

_"Five!”_

“What’re they arguin’ 'bout this time?” Kagain took a large gulp out of his flask, eyeing their leader and that damn kooky necromancer as they bickered for the fifth time that tenday.

Viconia rubbed her temples with a sigh. “Something about exchanging squirrel innards for the wizard’s badger skull,” she said, “I don’t know, I think they’re arguing over how many squirrels it would take to make the trade.”

He sat down next to her, offering the brandy and, upon receiving a short “pass”, took another sip. “I don’ get the appeal.” He said. “Gold, yes – I could bargain for hours over a copper coin, but bones? They’re worthless.”

“Three squirrels and a cat or go back to climbing those trees yourself!” Neira shouted eventually, stomping on the ground to indicate that it was her final offer, take it or leave it.

“Deal!” Xzar shouted back, “But you won’t see your skull until I see the livers AND the cat’s eyeballs. BOTH of them! AND FRESH.”

“Fine, fine.” She turned on her heel and stormed off into the trees with a huff. “I really hate you sometimes.”

“Believe me when I tell you that the sentiment is very much mutual, you tar-soaked glorified chicken!” He called after her. If Blackbird turned around, she would have seen the wide smile on his lips which clearly denied his words.

But she didn’t.

\---

No sooner than the next day when they were back in Nashkel, the two were getting on as well as ever, giggling dementedly and swapping stories over breakfast which made the rest of the party immediately lose appetite.

“Such perfect specimens you've brought me!” Xzar marvelled at the three small objects suspended in a jar filled with preserving fluid. “And how healthy – the squirrels in these woods sure do have a miraculous diet.”

Neira nodded, caressing lovingly the badger skull sitting in front of her, next to a large cup of steaming black coffee. “Not as miraculous as the one badgers have,” she said, “Look at those teeth! Perfect condition, no signs of disease, and you got me a full set!” She squealed excitedly with enthusiasm reserved only for skulls and coffee. “How did you find the eyes, by the way?”

“Splendid!” He produced another jar, smaller this time. “You really shouldn’t have looked for a beast with heterochromia, though – keep it up and I might think you’re spoiling me, my blackbird.”

“Anything for you, my destroyer.” She purred before her attention returned to examining the skull’s upper jaw.

Imoen watched them from behind her book, the porridge in front of her having long gone cold due to a certain remark about feline optical nerves which still made her shudder when she thought about it. How could they be flirting so that they were the only two people in the whole damn tavern unaware of the fact that they were flirting?!

“Give it a week and they’ll be smoochin’” Montaron muttered with disgust.

“A month.“ Viconia corrected him, poking at her breakfast half-heartedly before giving up. “They are more oblivious than you give them credit for.”

~~~

Cold.

So cold.

Too cold. 

He couldn’t breathe.

Cold assaulted him from all sides, freezing water threatening to enter his lungs if he took a breath.

He tried to swim up towards the light, towards the water’s surface, but his limbs were growing heavier, more numb. His lungs were burning. Surely, one breath wouldn’t hurt them much more, would it?...

\--- 

“Where’s the wizard?” Viconia’s voice made Neira look up from cleaning the werewolf’s skull.

“I don’t know.” She said, looking around in search of the telltale green robes. “Where _did_ he go?”

Montaron shrugged nonchalantly. “Probably chasing rabbits, knowing him.” He said, using a clump of snow to clean his sword of blood before wiping it down with a cloth. “Leave him, he’ll come back when he’s hungry.”

Neira hummed, scratching her head before wincing as she instinctively pulled her hand away. Fuck, she forgot that claws and scalp didn’t go well together. Ouch.

She looked back at the battle. Sure enough, Xzar was there one moment, peppering a werewolf with Magic Missiles before there was a splash and…

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh SHIT.

Ignoring the pain in her sprained ankle, she sprinted towards the water’s edge and jumped.

\--- 

The water was so cold that it actually hurt to be submerged in it. 

Well, Neira shrugged mentally, at least her ankle hurt just a little bit less.

She quickly spotted two shapes in the murky depths. She ignored the larger and instead swam up to the smaller, thinner silhouette. 

Ignoring her burning lungs, she draped Xzar’s limp arm around her shoulders and swam back towards the surface, barely making it in time to avoid passing out.

She climbed out, coughing and gasping for breath as Viconia quickly did her priestly magics to get any water out of Xzar’s lungs.

“Here.” Kagain handed her a flask. “Brandy. It’ll warm ye right up, kid.”

Neira accepted it with a smile, taking a long gulp and feeling liquid warmth spread all over her insides. Sort of like coffee, she thought, only more disgusting.

“Thanks,” she wiped her mouth, returning the flask and mentally cursing Mendas for sending them to that fucking island in the middle of fucking winter. She was going to gut him when they returned, payment be damned – they’ll just rob his house and-

She was startled out of her increasingly gory fantasies by Xzar’s coughing as he sat up to throw up anything Viconia didn’t manage to get out. A wave of relief washed over her. He’ll live. Nothing else mattered.

Now, Neira didn’t tend to worry, and she absolutely wasn’t of the doting kind, so why did she find it so hard to leave his side? It’s not like she cared about him more than she cared about anyone else in her little band of degenerates; surely she would’ve done the same for any of them. Yeah, that’s right – she would’ve done the same for anyone, so it wasn’t like Xzar was special in any way, right?

“How are you feeling?” She sat by him next to their humble campfire. It was her turn to keep watch and everyone else was asleep.

“Cold,” Xzar mumbled, wrapping his blanket tighter around himself. “Cold and tired, but I know that I won’t wake up again if I go to sleep without warming this fleshsuit up.”

She nodded, staring into the flames. Viconia did say something about hypothermia – a condition she’d read a little about in Candlekeep. From what she remembered and from what Viconia told her just in case either she or Xzar got worse overnight, gradual warming up was the best solution.

“You’re a bird, aren’t you?” He asked suddenly.

“Um, yeah, I guess so.” She replied, looking down at the blackbird skull hanging around her neck.

“Penguins are birds, too.”

“They sure are.”

“Do you know how they preserve heat?”

That gave her a pause. Penguins, penguins… she scoured her memory for any information about those specific birds – she prided herself in knowing basically everything about basically every bird on the Prime Material Plane… In theory. In practice, her memory was so shitty that her magic tutors gave up a week into her training, Parda conjured a floating will-o’-wisp which reminded her of her chores (and snitched on her whenever she and Imoen went to steal cookies before said chores were over), and she needed a goddamn journal to keep track of all the shit she had to do.

“They… snuggle together?” She risked a shot into the dark. Gorion once remarked that she and Imoen looked like two huddling penguins while sitting in front of a fireplace one winter, hence the guess.

To her relief, Xzar nodded. “That they do.” He said. “Now, do you think that the trick will work in this situation?”

Was he offering?... No, surely not. Xzar hated being touched. Then again, he usually lashed out only whenever it happened without his consent – pretty reasonable come to think of it. Since he was offering, then clearly he was alright with touching, and hey, she was pretty damn cold.

“Only one way to find out.” She shrugged, scooting up closer and taking off the shirt she threw on in place of her soaked leather armour.

He did the same, revealing a slim chest covered in intricate black tattoos similar to the ones on his face. His ribs were poking out, Neira couldn’t help but notice as she hesitantly sat with her back against him so that he could rest his chin on her shoulder as they both stared into the dancing flames. He pulled both of their blankets over them, as well as a couple of furs (fetched using _‘Mage Hand’_ because neither of them felt like moving.)

“You saved me.” He said, breath hot against her neck. 

“It’s nothing,” She replied, trying not to shiver – he was even colder than she was. “I’m cold too, you know.”

“No, I mean getting me out of the water.”

“Oh.” Yeah, she did save his life… but it wasn’t the first time, nor was it the last if their luck kept being the way it was. She couldn’t see what was so special about that. After all, he saved her too, multiple times. “It seems that I did.” She quickly hid her necklace under the blankets, knowing well what colours it shone and desperately not wanting to see them… or worse, let Xzar see them.

Out of absolutely nowhere, he pressed a kiss to her exposed shoulder. “Thank you, Blackbird.”

The gems in the skull’s eye sockets lit up so brightly that the light was visible even between her fingers AND the blanket. Fuck fuck SHIT, Neira thought frantically. He kissed her. Well, not on the lips and probably platonically but still. And she liked it. Fucking hell. If Imoen were awake she’d go nuts about it.

Alright, what in the Nine Hells was she doing now... No, NO FUCK GIRL DON’T DO TH-

She tilted her head to press a light kiss slightly above his eyebrow, the closest spot she could comfortably reach from her position, muttering “It was nothing.”

He hummed, nuzzling against her before his eyes fluttered closed and his breathing evened out.

They were both reasonably warm now, she decided as her heart was desperately trying to hammer its way out of her chest, so maybe sleep wasn’t such a bad idea. All the werewolves were dead, anyway. She closed her eyes, leaned back against Xzar, and drifted off into a light, dreamless slumber.

~~~

Neira looked up from doodling bat skulls in her journal when a series of sharp knocks broke through the evening silence. One. Two. Three. Four. Ah, so it was Xzar.

“Come in.” She said, setting the black leather-bound book aside.

The door opened and he slipped inside, closing it noiselessly behind him.

“You should rename yourself to an owl.” He remarked, plopping down on the bed. “Staying up so late, getting up even later, and hunting mice with those claws of yours.”

She chuckled, flexing her fingers – she took the claws off for the evening, setting them on the desk within reach. 

“Find me an owl skull capable of holding these,” she tapped one of the gems in her necklace, “and I’ll consider it.”

“What is the story behind them, anyway?” He leaned forward, bright green eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Did you find a bird with gemstone eyes? Did you steal them from a sealed crypt guarded by powers unknown placed there by powers even more unknown?”

“I wish.” She laughed, something she rarely did come to think of it. “My caregiver gave me earrings with those in them for my eighteenth birthday – they were supposed to help him gauge my mood because I have what Imoen calls ‘a resting bitch face.’ He told me to wear them but they kept tangling into my hair and hood so I took out the gems and found a skull small enough to contain them – hence, blackbird.”

He nodded, listening attentively. “They change colour in accordance with your mood, then?”

“Yep.”

“Interesting.” He held out his hand. “I have heard of such magic; a mixture of transmutation and mind-reading. May I?”

Neira hesitated; she made a point to never part with the necklace; it was part of her very self, like feathers on a bird or horns on a deer. Then again, she trusted Xzar almost as much as she trusted Imoen…

She took the skull off its chain and tossed it in his direction.

He caught it dexterously and brought it closer to candlelight, watching the gems shift from pale blue (uncertainty) to something between yellow and orange – curiosity.

“Fascinating,” he muttered, “you insist on clothing yourself with darkness yet your mind is awash with thousands of colours.”

That gave her a pause - the yellow darkened, fading into dull orange. Surprise. It then shifted into indigo with a hint of green: confusion.

“Fascinating?” She repeated. Many adjectives had been used to describe her throughout the years: creepy, vile, cruel (something she definitely wasn’t – the fool had it coming), disturbing…. But fascinating?

He looked up at her, something strange glittering in those vivid green eyes of his. “You’re a being of many contradictions.” He said, expression unreadable. “You call yourself blackbird yet you have no wings nor feathers, and cannot fly. You drape yourself in black, yet your mind is bursting with colours capable of putting my "Colour Spray" to shame. Your trade is a rogue, yet mine would suit you better.”

“I was so shitty at magic that I gave up.” She muttered, recalling endless hours spent in Candlekeep, desperately trying to conjure up a simple mage light – something Imoen was so apt at doing that she was able to change its colour (usually to pink) and intensity. “I couldn’t even cast a simple _'Light'_ cantrip.”

“That would be because you’re a creature of darkness, so you would have difficulty with it even if you were proficient in the arcane.” Xzar replied, snapping her out of her memories. “Worry not, though, little shadow, for wielding magic is something only few are capable of doing – your talents lie elsewhere.”

“I guess so,” she twirled a strand of hair around her finger, “can I have the skull back?”

He tossed it to her without a word. 

“You’re a mystery wrapped in an enigma, blackbird. I came here to catch a glimpse of the creature behind the feathers.”

Coming from anyone else, that might have sounded sexual, Neira thought briefly before shaking her head. Fuck, Montaron’s humour was beginning to infect her. 

“Only if you let me know you in return.” She replied.

“Very well.”

\--- 

Dawn came and they were still talking, tossing a human skull back and forth to indicate whose turn it was to speak.

“Where did you find that child’s skull which you guard so possessively?” Xzar asked, sending the projectile her way.

Neira caught it. “I drowned a young page who threw a rock at me.” She said, feeling nothing at the thought that she ended the life of a child. “Now, what’s the deal with the peacock? You mention that bird and Montaron flies into a rage.”

He caught the skull, laughing. “I turned his hair into peacock feathers for a month once. Served him right, yes yes!”

She laughed too, at the ridiculous image that was their halfling friend flailing and cursing as his hair unfolded into a fan. Oh, Imoen was going to love this.

He tossed her the skull. “Do you pursue the armoured man because he slew your caretaker?”

She clicked her tongue. “No, I do not. My turn: will you buy me breakfast when we go downstairs?”

“Maybe.” He caught the skull with a pout, “Why are you pursuing the armoured man, then?”

“Because he wants something from me, and I need to know what.” She replied, catching the skull. “Now, will you buy me a coffee too?”

“No.”

“Why not?” She all but whined – the exhaustion of staying up all night was catching up with her.

“It's my turn now.” Xzar wagged his finger at her. “If you had to sacrifice one of our companions in exchange for immeasurable power, who would be the one to perish?”

“Montaron.” She replied without hesitation, making both of them laugh. She forgot how much she despised talking about herself - something about Xzar made it so easy to open up. They just…

They just clicked.

“Now why won’t you buy me a coffee?”

“Because plan to brew it for you myself.” He replied, resting his chin on his palm. “Three spoons, no milk, honey or sugar, one sprinkle of powdered spider legs. Did I get it right?”

She nodded. “You did… and just wasted a question. Catch.”

He huffed without much anger, catching the skull and making a face at it.

“Okay,” Neira made herself more comfortable on the bed. When has she moved from the chair to sitting in front of him, so close that it would be easier to simply hand each other the skull instead of tossing it? Why wasn’t she freaking out? Why wasn’t _he_ freaking out? Wh… “Which member of our delightful band of misfits do you loathe the least?”

“You.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Flatterer.”

“I mean it.” He threw/handed her the skull. “Same question.”

 _‘Imoen.’_ Neira wanted to say. What came out of her mouth, however, was “Same answer.”

~~~

She was a whirlwind of destruction. 

Xzar watched her, pale skin splattered with red, red, red, cutting and slashing through the clumsy ambush the bandits had prepared, her claws reaping death with each swipe – and oh, was the harvest bountiful.

She was beautiful, so bathed in rage. Otherworldly. Like a goddess coming down from her realm to smite down those foolish enough to stand against her. He would’ve fallen on his knees to worship her if he wasn’t in the process of bleeding out from a rather nasty stab wound in his side.

She swiped across another fool's throat, her claws leaving a trail of blood behind them, as he fell backwards with his throat gushing red, red, red.

At last, the battlefield was quiet.

She rushed up to him, then, an angel with wings blacker than darkness itself. How could Shar still cling to her godhood if such a majestic creature walked the Realms? Surely she was a more fitting candidate for a goddess.

“Shit, Xzar, don’t move!” She hissed through her teeth, slightly sharper than they should be now that he was close enough to notice. Or maybe it was a hallucination? His vision was beginning to blur. “I have a potion, hold on.”

She called out to Viconia, the gems in her necklace shifting from angry red to dull green-grey, a colour which he knew represented concern. She worried about him. The thought made something warm and slimy stir in his chest, like a giant serpent or earthworm pulsing to the rhythm of his heartbeat - a parasite wrapped around his heart.

“Here, drink.” She leaned over him, her feathers falling over her face like hair… or was it actually hair? He wasn’t sure, after all the time they spent together. How has he never thought of touching those inky strands to check? Running his fingers through them in a futile effort to tame them, for who could hope to tame any aspect of…

Warm, sticky fingers gently pried his mouth open and something cool and sweet was poured down his throat. He didn’t resist it, didn’t try to spit it out, knowing that she was more stubborn than a mule and tolerated no refusal. He drank as much as his aching throat allowed him until the vial was empty and the pain in his side lessened marginally.

Tendrils of pale magenta slowly crept into the skull’s green-grey eyes; inklings of relief among a sea of concern.

She saved him, held his life in her claws and chose to cherish it instead of crushing it to dust. 

He reached up to touch her hair, sticky with the blood of her fallen enemies. Yes, it definitely was hair, somewhat to his disappointment. Or maybe it changed according to her will? Further research was definitely in order.

She froze under his touch with a burst of orange – surprise - before relaxing, allowing his fingers to wander, caress her cheek, smear blood across her pale skin, brush his thumb against the corner of her lips. He wondered what she tasted like, and if he would live to find out.

“Stay with me.” She said to him, a plea rather than an order. What was that in her voice, cutting through his very core as he wanted nothing more than to pull her close and never let go? Was she...

Was Neira Noire, the hero of Nashkel and the one who tore Centeol's heart out of her bloated chest, afraid?

Then it hit; a sudden realization that made him audibly gasp.

She feared for _him_.

She feared that death would tear him out of her clutches, forcing them to be apart for the rest of eternity.

How could he ever survive that?

“I’ll stay forever if you let me.” He replied, promised before her black wings unfurled and drowned his whole world in blissful darkness.

\---

He woke up many hours later, gasping for air like a drowning man. It was night time, the stars shining above him like the eyes of an ancient beast. 

She was asleep next to him, close but not close enough to make him uncomfortable (how thoughtful.) Her fingers, devoid of claws, were wrapped around his wrist as if to keep track of his pulse, to ensure that he was still with her.

His saviour, his blackbird, his angel with inky black wings and claws dripping with crimson.

He exhaled, moving his hand so that he could slip it into hers, intertwining their fingers together.

"Thank you." He whispered before sleep claimed him once again.

~~~

Pain.

Pain.

Darkness.

A voice from the shadows. A familiar face.

Imoen.

Neira stood up on quivering legs, her whole body screaming in pain as every move sent fire coursing through her veins. Too much pain. Too much…

Anger.

Anger at the man who did this to her, to all of them. She heard the screams, heard that she wasn’t alone in her prison, that her friends were subjected to similar torment.

Oh, she was going to cut that fool’s throat open and pull his skull out through as he gagged and begged for mercy which she had no intention of giving... ESPECIALLY when she discovered that the bag of holding containing her ENTIRE collection of bones was gone! HOW FUCKING DARE...

Stop. No more anger. Anger meant more pain in her own skull, small wonder that she still had it. They had to leave that place.

Walking felt strange after being trapped in a cage for so long… how long? She couldn’t tell. Too long. Too much. It hurt to think.

Two other cages, the first opened by a key left lying on the table because both she and Imoen were too weak to even attempt picking the lock. Viconia staggered out of her prison, her skin littered with burns and cuts and her voice full of curses.

The second cage has been welded shut because there wasn’t a lock Montaron wasn’t capable of picking even with broken fingers. A simple acid spell from Imoen (Neira was too distracted by her headache to even figure out what spell it was) and he was free, already searching for something sharp to stab their captor with.

Imoen, Montaron, Viconia...

Something heavy settled in Neira's chest, a serpent wrapping itself around her lungs. “Where are Xzar and Kagain?”

Nobody knew. Nobody could tell. She worried, but her necklace didn’t glow, for the gems have been taken out and the skull left on the table next to the key, a crack running diagonally through it. Broken beyond repair, just like she was.

Her claws were gone too, so she armed herself with a short sword and donned simple leathers.

The next hours were a blur; goblins, djinn asking cryptic questions, tortured things in glass jars, books on rotting shelves like a twisted mockery of Candlekeep, dryads and djinn promising aid in exchange for acorns and a bottle, a sword she had no use for, a room full of traps and a portal which made her already aching head almost split open.

Then a man, Yoshimo, offering his aid because five heads were better than one. A room of mephits and Kagain’s dissected body lying, discarded, on the table.

“It seems that his regeneration couldn’t keep up with what the bastard was doing to him,” Montaron muttered, eyeing the multitude of cuts that littered the dwarf’s skin. Too many to heal. Too many to survive.

Kagain. Her stupid, greedy, annoying friend who was actually more like a father to her, who stood by her side even when she didn't have a copper to her name, who talked her through a panic attack after that damned sword spider almost ended her life, who sang dirty dwarven songs so terribly off-key when drunk, who...

She wanted to scream, to weep, to die, to _destroy_ , but all she could do was stare blankly, something breaking in her chest. 

“Take his body.” She said eventually, tongue numb in her mouth. “He deserves a proper burial.”

Then there was a clone, and a room full of traps and wands, and a man who wasn’t a man, and dwarves and… and…

 _Xzar_.

A small dark cell behind a door bearing deep, desperate scratches.

Xzar sat curled up in the furthest corner, tattered robes barely covering the multitude of wounds that littered his whole body. He held his face in his hands, eyes squeezed shut and fingers covered with blood and splinters, most of his nails missing.

Neira’s world snapped into focus as she fell on her knees before him, the thing in her chest screaming and clawing at her ribs. She wanted to touch him, pull him as close as she could and protect him from all harm, to see his smile and the glint in his bright green eyes and hear him proclaim himself become death and destroyer of worlds. She wanted to give him the whole world to destroy if only it would make him smile again.

“Xzar.” She choked out, unaware of the tears running down her cheeks. “Xzar, father almighty, what has he done to you?”

He looked up sharply, pupils wide and looking almost feral. 

“No, stop, go away.” He squeaked, trying to edge back even despite having a wall behind him. His voice sounded hoarse and broken, his eyes clouded over as if in fever. “No more illusions, no more..."

No more what? She quirked her head at him, a distinctively birdlike habit she didn’t even remember developing. Illusions? Why would the man, Irenicus, torture Xzar using _her?_

"Xzar, it's me." She whispered, partly to avoid startling him further and partly because her throat was too tight to allow her to raise her voice. "Blackbird."

He shook his head, his eyes so full of fear.

"Please no." His voice was that of a child, abandoned and terrified. "Don't hurt her again. Don't hurt me again. Please."

Don't hurt... her? What was he...

Oh.

A flash of anger so bright that it made her vision turn red for a couple moments. Irenicus was going to _pay._

She made herself as comfortable as possible on the cold stone floor. "Xzar," she said his name quietly, soothingly, "it's me, Neira. The real me. Irenicus isn't here. Here, take my hand." 

She reached out until he began to hyperventilate, then she retracted her hand until he stopped.

"We're here to get you out." She said slowly. "Illusions disappear when you don't believe in them. Do you believe that I'm here?"

He began to nod, but then quickly shook his head.

"Then I should disappear when you touch me, right?"

He nodded a little hesitantly, eyeing her with a mixture of suspicion and fear.

"Touch me, then."

He did, his hand freezing cold on top of hers. A web of barely healed scars ran across the top of his palm, and Neira swore to replicate it on Irenicus's face.

He stared at their hands for a long moment, trying and failing to comprehend the fact that she hasn't vanished, before his eyes locked with hers. Bright green, alert, and rapidly filling with tears.

"Blackbird." He choked out, lips trembling, and it took everything in her not to pull him into her arms and never let go. 

Fortunately, he embraced her himself, tightly, clinging to her as if she was the only real thing in his world.

She returned the embrace, feeling his ribs through the pitiful remains of his robe and shirt, and wondered when was the last time any of them had food in their mouths.

"I want to go, Blackbird," Xzar whined into her shoulder, his whole frame trembling as if he was about to fall apart. "I want to leave this place, go somewhere where the rabbits don't wait behind every corner, ready to jump at me and drown my world in torment."

She rubbed his back in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. "We'll get you out of here, I promise." She soothed, wondering what Irenicus had done to him and his brilliant, twisted mind. "I'll never let him hurt you again."

When did Xzar become everything to her?

\--- 

They barely made it out in time to avoid the explosion, and suddenly there was a whirlwind of action which Neira was too exhausted to process.

Irenicus, Imoen, strangers in grey cloaks, spells soaring through the air, the sun shining too bright from above, screams that she could barely hear over the ringing in her ears, voices talking, shouting, Imoen crying and thrashing as two hooded figures grasped her by the shoulders, Xzar reaching towards her as they dragged him and Imoen into a portal of some sort, her reaching towards him but stumbling forward as her legs gave out under her and she fell on her knees.

When she looked up, the cowled figures were gone, along with Imoen, Irenicus, and Xzar.

 _"I'll never let him hurt you again."_ That's what she had said not even an hour prior, hadn't she? She promised that she would protect him, protect them all, but how could she do that when she had no idea where they were? Anger, pain, helplessness, exhaustion, it was all too much.

She blacked out as soon as she got back on her feet.

~~~

She saw them everywhere: in a flash of green in the crowd, in two girls playing tag among the trees, in a dwarven drinking song sounding from the tavern across the road, in a pink gemstone necklace on a shop display, a red-eyed rabbit sitting on a witch's shoulder, or the smell of Kagain's favourite beef stew.

Kagain (no, Korgan. Why did she keep calling him Kagain?) poked her in the elbow, saying something about a magical sphere they should check out because the pay was supposedly good, and they needed the money to buy the information off that Bayle idiot.

Shadows reached out towards her, whispering secrets and promises of revenge if she gave in. Why not become one of them? Why not become a shadowdancer, a shadow among shadows, unseen by her enemies until it was too late? She knew darkness; darkness meant safety, comfort, refuge – even as a child she sought it to flee her mother’s wrath or to hide from Gorion’s overbearing concern.

The light hurt her eyes, made her skin burn red and peel away, gave away her position and revealed her weapons by reflecting off them.

Light was goodness, life, forgiveness.

Neira wanted none of it.

So what the shadows offered, she accepted without hesitation.

Killing became even easier than before, all traces of mercy inside her somehow gone and forgotten. She dragged the ordeal out sometimes, twisting her blade just to hear the screams of her victims, a music more beautiful than any bard’s symphony.

“Those who the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad.” Xzar had said once, and Neira knew that it was true, for no sane person could ally with the shadows and reduce a peaceful village in the Umar hills to burning remains. They helped her, promised devoted servitude when she finally ascended to take her father’s throne among the gods, and she needed all allies she could get. Besides, madness was relative; what was normal for a spider was chaos for the fly, was it not? And she was done being the fly, helpless and flailing in a web spun by someone else.

She commissioned several sets of claws: silver, mithril, and a few enchanted to burn, poison, or otherwise wound in ways her previous set wasn’t able to. Her kills got more brutal, violent, prolonged by vicious torture she grew more and more fascinated by. After all, if she suffered, why shouldn’t they? And oh, how fascinating it was to watch them suffer like she did, finding better ways to administer pain, subject others to her memories so that they no longer brought her pain, but guidance.

Slice here, for it hurts the most.

Strike there, for that’s where the artery is.

Her extensive biology lessons way back from Candlekeep became relevant once again as she relearned the strengths and weaknesses of body and mind. After a while, the pain of others began to bring her wicked, twisted joy. Shadows danced around her as she laughed, head thrown back, above a squirming and crying milkmaid who dared to call her “cursed.” Maybe she was. What of it? She wasn’t concerned, and if her companions were, they either didn’t show it or she didn’t care enough to notice.

She was going to find Irenicus, rescue her friends, and make the bastard pay tenfold for what he did to them all. Give him a taste of his own medicine, shove it so far down his throat that he chokes.

At night, she dreamt of murder, of countless birds obscuring the sun in flight as her army of shadows laid waste to all those who dared to oppose her.

Sometimes she wasn't alone on her throne of skulls. Sometimes the shadows were joined by risen corpses and skeletons.

_Xzar._

She couldn’t get him out of her head. Why couldn’t she get him out of her head? He came to her in dreams, lips chapped and dry and yet so soft when she kissed him, his fingers combing through her hair and darkness and bones swirling around them, cities crumbling and an army rising to heed their command.

“My blackbird.” He would purr against her lips, dripping black with ichor and smiling with razor-sharp teeth.

“My destroyer.” She would say in return, her claws dragging across his scalp, but never hard enough to draw blood. How could she ever hurt him? Her Xzar. Her beloved. Her Destroyer. Hers. Hers for all eternity.

She was coming for what was hers, and gods help those who stood in her way.

~~~

It was a dreadful journey through the sea and the desert, and Neira’s feet were killing her when they reached the asylum’s gates and went through, the key-stone letting them pass without triggering the traps. It was good, though; pain was good. Pain reminded her that she wasn’t dead. Pain reminded her that she had to inflict it onto someone else.

Someone like Irenicus, for example.

They were shown inside and went past many inmates; a girl who changed faces, a woman whose world was haunted by demons, a man who only saw riches…

…and Imoen, sitting in her room, unseeing eyes staring into nothingness.

She was wrong. Her hair wasn’t all pink (the copper roots were showing); her smile wasn’t there; her voice sounded alien and not like it was coming from her mouth…

Irenicus was going to burn, burn, _burn._

She followed them quietly when they got her out and combed the complex for the other lost soul; Xzar.

Neira felt something stir in her chest at the mere thought of him. She knew the feeling, but only recently found the name for it.

That's why when they finally found him, broken and blind to the world around him, lost inside his own mind, she simply brought her forehead to his and whispered something she should have said long ago.

"Xzar, I think that I love you."

She then remembered an old fairy tale about a princess trapped in eternal slumber, and leaned forward to press a kiss against his lips, dry and chapped but so, _so_ soft.

There was a short pause after she pulled away, watching transfixed as a change of some sort overcame him.

His hands jerked, falling from his face to rest on his lap. His eyes opened just a little wider, and he raised his head to look up at her with so much awe that she might as well have been an angel.

"You haven't abandoned me." He uttered, his voice broken and barely audible, and Neira almost broke down in tears just from hearing it.

"How could I?" She asked, genuinely confused at such a ridiculous notion. Abandon Xzar? Her Xzar? Unthinkable. "I promised that I wouldn't let him hurt you again and I..." She failed, and she could tell just by looking at his arms and collarbone. Too many new scars. A tear rolled down her cheek as she swore to never let another one mar his skin again.

"Hush." He muttered, leaning forward, closer to her, so close that she could kiss him if she wanted to. "Being away from you was like dying, Blackbird, and you can't hurt that which is already dead." He leaned closer until their lips were brushing. "You're here now, though..." he whispered, closing the remaining distance between them.

Neira's eyes fluttered closed as something bright hot and painful bloomed inside her chest. She kissed back, discarding her claws to pull her Destroyer as close as she could, fingers threading into his hair and moving lower to rest against the back of his neck. Closer. Closer. Not close enough.

Xzar never liked physical contact. Whatever Neira did to deserve this level of trust from him, she did not know, but she knew that she would do it over and over again if she ever found out what it was.

They pulled away to catch that pesky breath which kept making it impossible to drag the kiss on for longer (forever, ideally.) Xzar was smiling that delightful smile of his, wide but showing only his upper teeth. She kissed him again, just because she could.

"I'm here now." She reaffirmed, just in case, "and if you could point me in the general direction of our dear old friend Irenicus, I would be very grateful."

~~~

Her body twisted and deformed as the rage inside her finally found its way outside. Fingers turned into claws, head elongated and shifted into a beak filled with hundreds of teeth, sharp like needles. Her spindly, skeletal flame was covered with feathers darker than the night itself, a pair of wings exploding from her back in a shower of blood.

She was the Slayer, the physical embodiment of murder, and it felt _exquisite._

The vampires tried to run, but her claws found them sooner, tearing and shredding until her feathers were red, red, red instead of black and her laughter, distorted and laced with birdsong, rose above the screaming. Shadows danced around her, laughing and egging her on, pointing out when an especially cowardly fool tried to get away.

It was over almost too soon for her liking, and she stood alone in the middle of the room, blood dripping from her claws, beak, and wings. Then, quickly and violently, she reverted into human shape and fell on the floor, shivering and spitting vampire blood from her mouth.

The first one to approach her was Xzar, brushing away her hair to feed her a healing potion. It got rid of the minor cuts she didn’t even realise she had been bleeding from, as well as restored some of her strength.

“My Blackbird,” he kept muttering as he knelt by her side, examining one of the feathers she must have shed, “such a wonderful creature you are. Was this what has been hiding inside your brittle, hollow bones all along? A creature of beauty and death and wings like the night sky enveloping the world whole as death rains at those below…” he trailed off before snapping back into focus. “Not now, though. Later. Now rest, Blackbird. Rest.” His voice was growing softer, more soothing as his fingers combed through her hair, effortlessly untangling it as they went.

The last thing Neira saw before her eyes closed was her remaining companions: Montaron, Korgan, Viconia, and Imoen, looking at her with undisguised horror.

She fell asleep with a smile on her lips.

~~~

Of course the bastard took her soul; he took everything else, so why not that too? Hells, why not take Imoen’s one too, just for laughs? 

The shadows swirled and whipped around her, hissing and growling to show just how funny it was.

The pirate who agreed to get them away from Spellhold, Saemon or something like that, shrank away and stuttered out something about the ship being on the right course. 

But it wasn’t, because they were going the FUCK down because of some FUCKING fish monsters (who looked like they had amazing-looking skulls, but that was beside the point.)

And then they were in the Underdark, mingling among the drow to find out where Irenicus went and also to rescue some fucking dragon’s eggs – eggs Neira didn’t give two shits about. So, after the city was dead and desolate, they killed the dragon and she allowed Xzar to shrink its skull and keep it for himself, because how could she deny her sweet destroyer anything, especially when he stood in front of her with magic crackling between his fingers and this delightful mad smile stretched on his lips?

She was ready to give him the world and watch as he tore it apart to see how it worked.

One day, she promised him as they cleaned the dragon's skull together, that was what she was going to do.

~~~

With Bodhi dead and her skull (decorated with deep claw marks) resting in Neira’s bag, a gem among her impressive collection, Imoen’s soul restored, and Xzar brushing some dust off his robe – he didn’t seem very eager to follow the vampire bitch, no matter what temptations she threw at him. In the end, he simply cast _‘Control Undead’_ and made half of her troops kill one another – all they had to do was return the lantern to the elves and make Irenicus regret ever coming into existence.

Shame that things could never be so simple,

Because they ended up in literal HELL.

“Interesting,” Xzar, bless him, was scraping at the walls of the cavern they appeared in with a knife, “I thought that there would be more brimstone here, what a disappointment. Then again, perhaps there simply isn’t any in this particular chamber. Yes, more research is definitely in order.”

They came, they saw, they killed Sarevok (again), and finally collected enough Tears to open the blasted fucking door, through which strolled Irenicus himself, followed by a band of demons.

Neira’s slayer form took over her body before she could even think about unleashing it.

“This is going to be _fun._ ” She rasped out as her lower jaw unhinged itself.

And oh, how fun it was. The fight was brutal and dirty, but with Irenicus lying broken and defeated in front of her, Neira knew that it was all worth it.

She leaned over him, holding out a simple scalpel, stolen from the temple of a god whose name she didn’t bother remembering.

“You know what this is, don’t you?” She asked.

He spat in her face, face twisted with hatred and yes, fear. He was afraid. Of her. Of the small, fragile blackbird he meticulously broke and took apart not that long ago.

The shadows laughed. Shame that the blackbird picked up the pieces and put herself together. So what that not everything fit as it should have? She was so much stronger than ever before.

“And you know what I could do to you with this, don’t you?”

Let’s see what it was like to be on the other end of the knife.

“Wait.”

Long, graceful fingers plucked the blade from her hand as someone planted a kiss on the back of her neck. 

“Let me do it first.”

She turned to see Xzar grinning down at her. It was a grin she had never seen before, cruel and delighted at once, eager to deliver as much pain as physically possible, and ohhhhh, was that _‘Chill Touch’_ radiating from his hand? A combination of magic and more… traditional methods, how delightfully appropriate.

She took a step back, letting a virtuoso begin his performance. “Do your worst, sweetest.”

~~~

Word says that even centuries after her ascension, the man known as Jon Irenicus is still trapped in Neira’s domain, The Aviary, where every second of his existence is filled with excruciating pain. Word says that, after they finally perished, each of her companions has gained a place by her throne:

Kagain the Treasure-Keeper, sporting the magpie skull around his neck. He had always liked shiny things, so Neira allowed him to guard The Aviary’s numerous treasures.

Korgan the Blood-hound, always frothing at the mouth as he scans his surroundings for more things to destroy. His helmet is adorned with a boar skull, and Neira usually sends him down into the Realms whenever she wants a large number of people quickly dead.

Viconia the Prophetess, travelling the Realms under the guise of a nightingale, spreading Neira’s doctrine and converting more people with each day.

Imoen the Huntress, an ever-shifting mass of colours and laughter ready to cut off your legs so that you cannot escape her playtime. A skilled thief as well as a caster, she brings Neira skulls just like an obedient cat brings maimed animals to her master.

Montaron the Blade, Neira’s confidant and spy, he is her eyes and ears in the Realms. Look behind you, did that shadow just move? Did that shrike just wink at you? Surely it was nothing but your imagination. Sleep lightly.

And lastly, Xzar the Destroyer, the goddess’s right hand and… well, consort would be an appropriate term if either of them were interested in pursuing a sexual relationship. With that not being the case, he stands next to her throne with legions of the dead under his command. His cloak (green even in the black and white world of The Aviary) is held together by a brooch made of a rabbit skull, because _of course_ he had to pick a rabbit.

Suffice to say, neither Cyric nor Shar stood a chance when Blackbird and her loyal court sent them spiralling into oblivion.

After all, why be a goddess of murder if you can’t actually murder things, right?


End file.
